


i hate a duel with swords

by ernestdummkompf (JehanFerres)



Category: Gilbert & Sullivan & Related Fandoms, Iolanthe - Sullivan/Gilbert
Genre: Dark Comedy, F/M, M/M, Weapons, duel with swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/ernestdummkompf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...it's not the blade i mind, it's the blood</p>
            </blockquote>





	i hate a duel with swords

**Author's Note:**

> (title comes from a comedic exchange in the grand duke in which ernest and ludwig are being prissy babies, as does the summary.)
> 
> so this is something that laurel (they seem to be involved in a lot of my fics) indirectly gave me the idea for, which then proceeded to absolutely consume me for the whole festival until i wrote it, and here we are. this is in the original setting of course (hence the fact that they are fighting with swords). anyway - i've wanted to do some darker g&s stuff for a while because most of my g&s fic (and fic in general) is domestic fluff; the darkest one i've written is rather tumbled and that's barely dark.
> 
> smarmy ass tolloller comes from my friend who played tolloller as a characterisation idea, and i liked it so it stuck. if you prefer how i usually write him and it's any consolation, imagine him with a slightly surprised look on his face at all times, a la oliver white.
> 
> so: enjoy my babies sword-fighting! (or don't. i feel so bad for this omg.)

“It’s a very painful position to be in,” Tolloller repeated, although his expression suggested that it was anything but. “As I said, George – I care a good deal about you.” He elegantly held out a sword to Mountararat, pointing the blade in towards himself.

“Yes – and more than I suspect _I_ care for _you_ ,” Mountararat grunted, making a show of weighing up the sword in his hand, while Tolloller spun his around absently in his hand. “I shall have no difficulty in thrashing you into the ground, Thomas.”

“What, you? The man who hasn’t picked up a sword in twenty years, let alone _used_ one?” Tolloller chided.

Without warning, he lunged at Mountararat with the sword, effectively pinning him against the wall without a route out of the way of the sword. For his part, and when he saw that Tolloller was sizing his throat out, Mountararat swung his own sword across, forcing it into a collision with Tolloller’s in a manner that would have knocked Tolloller’s weapon out of his hands, hand he not spun his wrists around with it.

Despite not being given much of a chance to prepare, and contrary to Tolloller’s earlier jibes, Mountararat had the upper hand, being larger and more physically muscular than his opponent, and had Tolloller not, in spite of his small, frail stature, been a fairly seasoned swordfighter in addition to a cheating, lying bastard, Mountararat would easily have won the fight before it had even had an opportunity to start. As it stood, however, he only barely had the upper hand, which he would no doubt later put down to Tolloller’s trickery.

However close as friends they were, Mountararat knew not to turn his back on Tolloller, and when he started walking around him, he followed him, but was surprised when, around ninety degrees from their former positions, Tolloller ran at him again. Instinctively, Mountararat put his sword up to block, but a moment too late, as Tolloller’s blade glanced off and grazed along Mountararat’s left shoulder and collarbone as well as cutting through the fabric of his tailcoat.

Mountararat had expected Tolloller to be resting on his laurels now that he had wounded his opponent, but far from it. Although he was breathing heavily with heaving shoulders, his sword was still pointed at Mountararat’s throat, and his expression, while slightly smug, was still extremely wary.

“Of course,” Mountararat said, almost to himself. “We must fight, and one of us must die.” Then, to Tolloller: “This is the one contract you can keep, eh?”

“Just eager to get rid of you, George.”

With that insult, Mountararat sprung back at him, despite the pain in his shoulder and chest, but he was sluggish from his injury, and Tolloller was easily able to meet his blows and defend himself. But he, too, was tiring from the exertion, and within a few seconds they were in the reverse of the position that they had found themselves in at the beginning of the fight, with Tolloller’s back pressed against the wall of the building.

Tolloller gritted his teeth, deciding what needed to be done. Without pausing for thought, he kicked Mountararat’s feet out from under him, knocking his oldest friend to the ground. Mountararat steadied himself, but lost his grip on his sword in the process, and when he looked for it, Tolloller’s foot was on the blade, and Tolloller’s sword was at his throat.

Rather than give up, even though he was in pain, Mountararat pulled his sword from under Tolloller’s foot, sending him toppling down, and stood up again. But the pain in his shoulder proved to be too much, as he wavered, falling forward a little and leaning his weight against the blade in his hand. While Mountararat straightened himself up, Tolloller pulled himself up onto his feet, and aimed his sword at Mountararat’s stomach.

Mountararat ran, abruptly, at Tolloller, and this time he was caught by surprise, barely having the time to parry and defend himself. The blade of Mountararat’s sword caught him on the jaw, and made him bite his tongue.

With Tolloller distracted, Mountararat could see a way out of this fight, although it wasn’t a pretty one. He watched Tolloller for a moment – he was rubbing the now-bloody wound on the underside of his jaw, even though his opponent, who he had given license to kill him, was under three feet away.

In one movement, Mountararat shoved the sword in his hand into Tolloller’s chest, just underneath the Earl’s ribs, and then pulled it free again. Tolloller didn’t even make any noise of protest or try to fight back, but fell forwards onto his hands and knees, coughing and with a wild look in his eyes, before his legs and arms gave way and he fell flat on his stomach, his face slamming against the ground.

More matter-of-fact than a man who had just killed his oldest friend should have been, Mountararat crouched down beside the body, and briefly felt for a pulse. Finding none, he pulled himself to his feet, and picked up Tolloller’s sword. He broke it over his knee, and repeated the action with his own weapon, before the blood loss and shock finally caught up to him as the adrenaline that had been keeping him going faded.

Mountararat was just able to stagger backwards, and into the wall of the building, before his vision faded and he collapsed, still just barely conscious.

**Author's Note:**

> [sad jazz-hands]
> 
> also this obviously isn't canon in the modern au because while mountararat could probably run u through with a sword tolloller is wet in the head so he would Not. either way fighting is rly difficult to write and i Do Not Enjoy it, because it all feels rly contrived.
> 
> if it's any consolation, i have a nicer fic up next. it features pirates, babies and crow's nests. (the baby is not frederic.)


End file.
